Born to Die, page 91
Yes, they’re innocent.
It doesn’t matter. When I land in their shocked midst, I still slash and bite and tear. Even when they are nothing but the vague resemblance of humanity they used to be, I continue to stomp them down with my broad flat feet.
Turning them into a stain soaking into the muddy snow.
I hear footsteps crushing into the snow above me. Turn with a growl, but I see a wight running away from me instead of rushing down to attack.
Her side is awash with bright blood. Arm hanging from a ragged flap from her shoulder. Banging against her like luggage bouncing from the hip of a traveler rushing through the airport.
I dismiss her. Turn away and start my long march down the hill. I’m going straight through. I’ve never been this big. This powerful.
I dare something to try to stop me.
The snow piles to either side of me as plod through the accumulation. I see no details through the blowing weather, but I don’t lose track of the glow ahead. The carnival lights diffusing through the flakes like headlights reflecting back from heavy fog.
The air bites the skin of my face. The backs of my hands. Any area uncovered by thick fur.
It freezes the tracks of snot dripping from my nose as I pant.
I hear an echo of sound. Freeze in place and hold my breath. The noise repeats. Like cloth dragging across skin.
I let my breath out in a soft hiss. Before I can take in fresh air, I am caught off guard by a flash of movement. A blur of white from every direction.
More wights than I can count erupt from the gloomy snow to arrow straight into me. A collision of heat and pain. Striking as one. Bearing me to the ground. Swarming all over me like ants on a dying butterfly.
I thrust my head up in a strike. Snapping my teeth over flesh. Biting through bone.
The wight screams. Floods my eyes with the blood pouring from the stump of his elbow. I spit my mangled mouthful into the nearest face. Grab the distracted asshole by the throat.
Hold him to my chest as I roll out from under the scrum. Scattering bodies like raindrops slinging from an airplane propeller.
More come from between the trees. I turn the wight in my arms over. Grab him by one ankle. Swing him like a softball bat. For the fucking fences.
His head collides with the face of a wight on the lead. They explode like rotten melons dropped from a bridge.
I continue my swing with neck at the end spraying blood. I knock several more to the snow. Jump forward to stomp them down. The claws on my feet puncturing lungs. Ripping through bowels. Snapping bones and crushing skulls.
Teeth sink into the meat behind my ankle. I fall to my knees with a howl. Reach back. Grab a handful of bodies and tear them away. Their mouthful of flesh comes with them.
I try to push to my feet, but that foot doesn’t support my weight. Wights crash against my back. Climb to my shoulders.
A metal fence post bursts out of my chest. Blood floods into my mouth. I drop the mangled body of my club. Grab the post. Jerk it the rest of the way through me.
The wound whistles as air escapes my lungs in sizzling bubbles.
I stab over my head. Skewer a wight through the face. Catapult him into the air. The body slides free and sails into the falling snow.
I make it to my feet with a grunt of effort. Pain shoots up my leg. Like I’m standing in fire.
I stagger into a line of trees. Banging from one to another like a pinball. A trail of blood following me.
Voices screaming in my ears. Hissing and spitting. I decapitate a snarling female with the fence post. It bends almost double from the impact.
I toss it over my shoulder. Punch another wight so hard, my fist explodes through them. Hand slick with guts.
A shovel whips into my view. Cracks me just over my left eye. Crunching bones. A wash of blood down my face. Swelling pressure that feels like my eyeball exploded.
Then my feet are no longer under me. Churning through empty air as we angle out into space.
A giant gorilla crawling with wights.
We splash into icy water like a depth charge explosion. A concussive vacuum that sends water so high into the air, when I finally surface, it’s still coming down like torrential rain.
A few wights have managed to cling to me. The others have scattered on impact. Gasping and flailing.
Thin sheets of ice break apart. Windmilling arms cracking through like boat oars. making little progress on the surface.
I take a huge breath. Feel it fart out of the hole in my chest as I submerge. Stroke through the darkness with the current of the creek. Pulling the hateful bodies with. One hanging onto my back. Snaking his arm around my neck.
Another holding onto my leg like it’s a lifeline tossed to him in a churning sea. Teeth deep into the muscle of my hamstring.
Yet another underneath me. Stabbing something into my gut over and over.
That’s the easy one. I reach down to grab his face like it’s a bowling ball. His knife comes up to bite into my forearm.
I squeeze until his skull cracks. Peel him away to let him drift behind me. Crash up through the ice on the surface for another breath to be wasted underwater. Bubbling out of my chest as I swim.
The second one I kick away with my other leg. Like ridding myself of a wet boot. The bite he leaves is a hollow spot of fire.
I surface again. I try for another breath, but his arm around my neck tightens. It barely makes it around my throat, but it is strong.
Before dropping back beneath the ice, I see the covered bridge. Just around the coming bend.
Back into the cold dark, and I hear the voice bubbling in my ear. A wordless grunt of effort.
I reach for the bottom. Dig my claws into the cold rocky silt. Come to a halt right under the rusty steel supports. Bunch my legs underneath me.
My lungs burn. Mind panicking for air.
I force everything I have into my leap. Pushing the earth away from me.
I shoot out of the water with my back flat to the sky. Smash that fucker on my shoulder into an angle of metal. It cuts him in half. Digs through my fur. Cuts flesh and muscle all the way to my shoulder blades.
The bridge rings like a gong.
I fall back into the creek. Breathless. Dazed. Caught back up in the current.
The arm slips from around my neck. Trails behind with the other half of the body.
I come up against the slope of the bottom as the creek becomes shallower next to the old bus terminal. Before they moved it out to the shopping center on Kerns and 5th.
It turns into a marsh in the spring. Spreading out in trickling tendrils over five or six acres. The southern limit of the protected wetlands starting all the way up at the memorial.
I’m wedged between the rising bottom and the ice covering the surface. A much thicker sheet over the shallow water.
I have no air. Bleeding out from a gaping hole in my chest. A dozen bites. My burning eye socket.
I gather myself into stillness. Concentrate on the sweet air just out of reach.
My intent is to burst out with a roar of triumph.
Instead, I barely squeeze through the jagged hole I make with the top of my head. Flop over to lie with my upper body on the frozen shore. My lower body floating in the slowing current.
The first deep breath is excruciating. The second is agony. By the time I’m a minute into my recovery, it’s just a burning nuisance.
I pull my numb feet out of the water. Crawl up to fling myself under the limbs of a tree. Drooping from the weight of the fresh snow.
I’ll be back to my new old self again in no time.
I look down at my massive hand. Wonder what a can of beer would look like sitting in my palm.
Chapter Thirty
I’ve never been in this body before. Not when I was in control. Really feeling it.
I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be like. I just know it ain’t supposed to be like this.
The hole in my chest dribbles thin blood. Syrupy fluid. I can barely move my foot. The other leg throbs when I try to stand.
My throat feels like a piece of glass is stuck in it.
I thought I was just supposed to imagine myself better. Or well. Or just not this fucking bad.
I push out from under the tree. Shake most of the snow off of it as I use it to stand. Catch my breath.
This is all so familiar, though.
The cold and the snow. The wights hanging out at the tops of the hill.
This is what happened the last time Crank got some power. Hell vouched for him then. Is he still its man of honor now?
What is hell doing in my body while Crank is running the carnival? The terror fair.
I limp out into the open. The snow has stopped while I was under there feeling sorry for myself. That’s nice.
I floated for miles. Not too far from the fair. A mile or so staggering through Wentwood. Past the old shops that claim to be keeping the small town alive. Around the tobacco store built to look like a small dairy barn. The Smoking Parlor.
Then it’s a straight shot to the north side of the carnival. I’ve never gone in from that side before.
Up the remaining slope to the road. To the four-way stop. The red light hanging over the intersection blinks faintly. A buzzing click at the edge of my hearing.
I lean to the side to spit blood into the snow. A big snotty gob of it.
My throat feels a little better. Could use something to drink.
I think about that beer again. I wish I could get rid of that shit. Just crave water like a normal person. If that ’s what normal people crave … I don’t know anymore.
I ignore myself. Like trying not to scratch a rash.
My feet feel like wooden blocks. Dragging troughs through the wet snow. Melting the closer I get to the carnival.
From clinging slush to dripping water in a couple of blocks. I hang my mouth open to pant. Hold my arms away from my body. Catching an occasional cool breeze.
The light in front of me shines into the night like the Bat Signal. Bouncing off the underside of the clouds.
I narrow my eyes to look through the gap between a couple of houses.
Shake my head in frustration when I realize only one of my eyes is working. I reach up to the puffy eyebrow. Feel the wet goop spreading out to my temple.
Fuck.
At least the hole in my chest has closed. It’s easier to breathe. And my steps are more sure. Maybe the eye will spontaneously correct before I get there.
What do I do when I get there, anyway?
I have an idea. A memory of pulling the jake down through the Gossamer with me that first night. Kind of my awakening.
But who do I pull through? And what do I pull them through when I figure that out?
I’m just a sweaty gorilla heading to the fair. What do I know?
The carnival looks different from this direction. Like I’ve never been here before. The usual food trailers — Margot’s funnel cake and the waffle fries and the deep-fried Oreos with caramel sauce and the cotton candy — are nowhere to be found. But I smell the grease burning from every window.
Pork tenderloins. BBQ and German sausages.
My mouth waters. I could eat all of that. Follow it up with a beer or ten. An after-dinner smoke. Watch the kids scream on the Spider. AC/DC blaring from the speakers.
Then I get a closer view of the folks in line for a root beer.
My appetite dies in a burning pit in my stomach.
I remember the unfortunates from the last time I was here. Reveling in torture for the sick whims of a Russian bandleader and his pussy squid.
The snow flows away from the heat of the carnival. Melted into puddles. Like after the rain on the first night I was here.
Some of the puddles have an iridescent skim on the top. Some have oily red tendrils reaching into them. Some are overflowing with blood.
And now I hear the screams. The moans. The whispers of prayers. The oh God of sexual pleasure. Or begging to be saved.
I step over the metal barrier. Not a magical border this time. Just a point beyond which normal no longer exists. Not like what is behind me is normal.
I drag my back foot over. Steady myself with a wince. Freeze when a sudden fear settles over me.
I look around to find that everyone has stilled. Turned to face me. Their silence presses against me like a black wind.
It’s as if the carnival continues on empty. Just the sounds of the machines. The music. The mechanical.
Unblinking and empty, they stare.
The soft splatter of wet meat hitting the ground. The patter of dripping blood. Or maybe piss.
I’m just a gorilla minding his own business. Just passing through. I lift my hand in a wave. Try out a smile of reassurance.
No reaction.
I take a step toward the tents in the center. Their gazes follow me.
I pick my way through a line at a waffle cone trailer. An elderly woman with a weeping hollow spot where her left kidney should be stumbles against me. I keep her on her feet with a hand on her back.
I see a flicker of something in her eyes. Some reaction or emotion. Maybe at being touched to help instead of to harm.
Or maybe in resentment for not making it painful enough.
My big foot sinks into the soft grass. Squelches into mud that bubbles up through my clawed toes. Unsettling. The feeling makes me queasy.
Like I stepped in cold shit.
I stop before planting my other foot when the music stops with an abrupt pop of static. A hum of feedback.
An indrawn breath, followed by a whisper. “Cheeldren.”
Crank’s voice is soft and seductive.
“The time has come. As I have promised, he has finally returned home. Such pleasures we all will know.”
A low moan from behind me. I make a slow turn. Another voice joins the first. Then another. Then more and more.
The voices blend into one rising warble of insanity. A wailing scream louder than a shrieking jet. Every mouth stretched wide into an open grin.
Eyes wide and fixed. Looking right at me.
I clap my hands over my ears, but the scream cuts through my flesh. Burns into my brain. Sears a memory I’ll be happy to die to get rid of.
The old lady I kept on her feet takes a step. A slow slide across the asphalt with her bare feet. A fat man with no lips joins her. A little girl crawling on bloody nubs. A woman with multi-colored darts peppering her chest follows suit.
The whole carnival is uniting against me. Closing in like they’re underwater. Then I take a step backward.
That seems to send a signal to their mesmerized brains. They shift from a stalking creep to a dead sprint between one breath and the next.
A tide of bloody flesh. The combined scream wedging into me like a cold knife.
Fuck.
All.
Of.
This.
I spin away from the approaching horde. Dig in to launch into a sprint of my own. Ten or fifteen yards of open grass until the first tent. Plenty of space to get clear of them. Lose them once I’m inside Madame Olive’s Pavilion.
As usual, I’m not good at plans.
Through the approaching gaps comes a rush of bodies. Swarming out from between the tents like water around rocks.
I skid to a halt. Digging trenches in the soft ground. I spread my arms out to welcome them all, and I can’t help laughing.
Chapter Thirty-One
They swallow me whole. The thunder of their feet. The blistering wail of the carnival chorus.
As their bodies block out the light, I hear Crank switch the soundtrack back on. The throbbing synth beat of that fucking Prince song again.
Classic.
Life is a circle. An exchange. Or maybe more of a compromise. Negotiations against the flaws introduced by emotions.
How many times have I convinced myself not to do the right thing? Right for me, or for someone else. Convincing myself I have earned that beer because of how I have suffered.
Of course I drink too much. I just had a decaying boy sit on my chest and puke blood into my face. Of course I smoke too much. You would too if you sat down for a shit, and a rippling millipede the size of your arm shot into your asshole to burst through your belly button.
Covered in chunky blood. Sliding out with the sound of a rusty zipper.
But I wasn’t born to eat tofu and broccoli sprouts. To drink mineral water and green tea. To start a drum circle where we all talk about where the mean old man touched us.
I was born to suffer. To take up the slack for the people in this town who didn’t deserve it.
I’ve been running from that responsibility. Here, at the end, I finally get it. I was born to take their pain.
I was born to protect them from the darkness that has haunted me my whole life.
As I feel them press into me — hear their voices united in rage — I finally get it.
I truly was born to die.
My arms are pinned to my sides. Legs immobilized under the clinging hands. Nails dig into the skin around my ear. Rake along my cheek.
I collapse beneath them. A gap between two tortured faces where I see the sparkling lights of the Ferris wheel spinning away.
They rip my eye out. Then I see nothing.
My ear tears away with a wet rasping pop.
My lips follow.
Blood pours back down my throat.
Fingers bend. Then break.
My genitals are attacked. Pressure against my anus.
Stabbing and punching. Hands thrust into my mouth.
The weight on my chest keeping my lungs from expanding.
I have only the light in my imagination to keep the darkness at bay.
I feel their emotion fall over me like a heavy comforter. Sweating under the blankets on a summer day.
They are in pain. Betrayed by Crank’s pettiness, and I am to blame.
Burning agony shoots up into my forearm. My thumb has been bitten off.
They are victims of pointless torture. The children that Crank calls them. Defenseless against such mindless power.
More of my fingers. Ripped or bitten off. Gone in a burst of pain and blood. My other ear. Scalp peeled back.
